Truth be told Trev really could use the help. He grinned back. “Thanks, seriously. I probably can’t spare much more than that either, especially with our interviewees coming tomorrow, but we’ll see what we can get done.”
“That’s the spirit,” his friend clapped him on the back, and together they headed for the nearest stand of trees.
Chapter Six
New Neighbors
Watching the crowd of dirty, emaciated people in ragged clothes coming down the hill towards town, it was hard to picture them as a benefit to the town rather than an extreme liability. Just looking at them made Matt feel hungry, and he’d recently eaten lunch.
Or maybe, in spite of his frugal portion, it made him feel extremely overfed considering the alternative. He’d experienced more than his fair share of serious hunger last winter, trying to get by on what had been in the cache Trev gave his family. And it was almost certain he’d be facing more of that before this winter was through.
And the town was going to welcome in dozens of these beggars to make their situation even worse.
Not beggars, Matt, he had to remind himself. As bad off as they looked it was easy to forget these were all experienced doctors, engineers, skilled craftsman, farmers, hunters, and even a few retired veterans of wars overseas. And most importantly for him there was an OB/GYN among them, who he desperately hoped was well qualified.
He stood with the town’s interviewing committee, which was made up of him and his mom Mona, Trev, Lucas, Catherine and her daughter Tam Raymond, Chauncey, Ben, Terry, and lastly Carol Clarkson, an energetic woman in her thirties who for months now had been supervising the labor of the women in need who worked for food from the town’s stores.
A small crowd of gawkers had gathered to watch the approaching group, murmuring thoughts similar to Matt’s own, although generally less complimentary. The townspeople’s response to Lewis’s idea had been lukewarm at best, with the biggest concern being food. Then again, even the most ardent critics had a hard time arguing against training and experience the town was lacking and desperately needed, such as in obstetrics.
They greeted the refugees and escorted them to a pavilion they’d set up for their visit, where the promised meal waited. The idea was to let them eat and then have Lewis, Rick Watson, and a few others give them a tour of the town, while they pulled people out one at a time to interview them and get clarification on the skills they’d listed on their resumes.
Matt felt a bit bad that Lewis had been relegated to tour guide even though this was his idea, although his friend didn’t seem to mind. As for Rick, Matt had barely seen him the last few weeks. Chauncey’s sons had been working almost nonstop to take care of their family, Rick doing the lion’s share of the work with whatever help Wes could offer. With their dad crippled and so often occupied manning the radio on behalf of the town the responsibility fell on their shoulders.
That family would soon include Alice Thornton, who would be marrying Rick a week from now. They’d planned an informal outdoor event with the whole town invited, for dancing and sports and games. Matt was looking forward to it, as much because the town needed reasons to rest, relax, and celebrate as because he was happy for his friends.
As the refugees got started on their meal the committee invited the first potential recruit into the log cabin that served as the clinic, where a collection of chairs had been assembled.
The first interviewee was a man about Matt’s age, or maybe a bit older, about six feet tall with a solid build. Beneath his medium length sandy blond hair he had the sort of movie star type features that tended to draw a woman’s interest. Judging from the way the eyes of several of Aspen Hill’s young ladies followed him as he was ushered inside, Matt had a feeling he knew one refugee they hoped would make the cut.
The man joined them at the circle of chairs, offering his hand first to Matt. “Robert Paulson. Thanks for this opportunity,” he said sincerely.
After brief introductions while the man shook everyone else’s hands Matt motioned for him to sit. “Let’s get some of the obvious stuff out of the way. First, do you have a criminal record?”
Robert looked a bit surprised, but shook his head. “No.”
“And you haven’t committed any serious crimes that have actual victims since the Gulf burned?”
At that the man’s surprise turned to confusion. “Actual victims?”
Matt felt his face reddening. He was going to have to revise that wording. “Under the circumstances I can’t really fault a starving person for raiding an obviously abandoned house or car, or looting a closed and abandoned business. And especially not for resorting to violence to defend yourself or your property. Aside from being hypocritical, that would exclude just about everyone.”
“Ah.” Robert nodded in understanding. “I’ve had to defend myself and my property a few times, and a time or two I’ve gone looking for food and necessities where owners were no longer around to protest, as it were. But for the most part I’ve tried to uphold the laws, even if they’re no longer being enforced. Everyone making the choice to live that way is the only way society survives.”
It was a good answer. “Do you have any outstanding debts we should know about?”
“Aside from a car loan and a gym membership?” Robert asked with a slight grin. “I doubt anyone’s going to collect on them, but in the unlikely event they do I suppose I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”
His good humor was infectious, and several members of the committee couldn’t help but smile too. “You and everyone else,” Catherine replied. She glanced at Matt questioningly, and he nodded for her to go ahead. “Those are the main formalities, and we covered the rest in your resume. Unless there’s anything else you think you should add?” The man hesitated, seriously thinking and obviously not sure what was worth mentioning, then shook his head. “Let’s get to it, then. Tell us about your qualifications. You’re a furniture carpenter?”
Robert nodded, then hesitated. “As a profession? I mean, with mass production I’m not sure furniture carpentry is even a thing anymore. Aside from fixtures built during construction, that is. But I mean building something like a table to sell…” He trailed off, aware he was on the verge of babbling.
The former Mayor’s smile turned reassuring. “Why don’t you tell us about it?”
The man shot her a grateful look. “Carpentry was my dad’s hobby. He worked at it all his life, and by the end was really skilled. He made all the furniture in our house, and friends and visitors would often try to commission him to make something for them. Sometimes at a really good price, although he usually refused. He wanted to keep the work a hobby, and the most he’d bend on that was the occasional gift.”
Robert trailed off, looking pained for a moment as if remembering recent grief, then continued. “I was practically raised in his workshop, and worked on most of his projects with him. In the last few years I started making my own furniture, which I did sell where I could. The market for handmade furniture has been growing over the last few years, especially quality work that’s built to last. I was on my way to making a reasonable living before the world ended.”
“Well I’d say the market for handmade furniture has only gotten better, all things considered,” Matt said dryly. He leaned forward. “Let’s get right to the point. Aspen Hill could really use a skilled carpenter, but could you actually do carpentry work for us? Do you have the tools and skills for low tech work, without electricity or a workshop full of fancy equipment?”